


To Kill A Sunrise

by ark_harpy



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, mental breakdowns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24387391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ark_harpy/pseuds/ark_harpy
Summary: Don't you see that violence has no end? Isn't limited by rules?Don't you see as angel preaching you're nothing but the fools?Fools step in, where angels fear to treadYou see, to kill others is the ethic of the dead
Relationships: Alex Kralie/Timothy "Tim" Wright
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No TWs for this chapter

Alex wasn't very fond of Tim’s attic. It smelt like dust and faintly of cigarette smoke. It was stale and it made it hard to breathe. Aged instruments, notebooks, and discarded articles of clothing cluttered the small space. The wooden panels lining the floor were rotted and dilapidated. The house needed some renovations but he doubted that Tim had the money for that.

He’d been sleeping on an old mattress that Tim had presumably left up there for storage when he got a new one. It was stained and uncomfortable but it didn’t matter anyway considering he barely slept, to begin with. He slept with his gun right next to him and that worn picture of Amy under his pillow.

Alex has been staying in Tim’s attic for about a month now. Neither Jay nor Tim knew he was squatting there and them being oblivious to it was the only thing that mattered. It seemed like an odd place to hide out considering it was Tim’s house, but it seemed like the last place they would check.

Tim would occasionally come to the house to pick something up, but he never bothered to venture near the attic. Painkillers, food, and clothes were the only things he ever took. He always came alone, which was odd, considering that Jay told his audience on Twitter that they were in hiding together.

Even the hooded man hasn’t shown up yet, surprisingly. Before then, the man seemed to know where he was at any time. 

The only entity that seemed to know he was there was that ...thing.

The Operator.

Every couple of days the creature would appear in the distance whenever Alex would glance out the window. He could feel its presence faintly by the unsettling buzzing in the air and the pins and needles tingling all over his body. Obviously, this was accompanied by the urge to violently cough. It always stood in the middle of the woods next to the house. It never came any closer than that.

~~~

He was beginning to memorize the format of the house. Once in a while, he’d dubiously sneak around the house to use the bathroom and find some old canned food to eat. Alex had been in Tim’s house before when they were shooting Marble Hornets, but he couldn’t recall much.

He had begun to learn more and more things about Tim he’d never known before just by the things abandoned at his house. It’s not that surprising, considering he’d been hiding out in his house for over a month. 

Tim enjoyed cooking, recipe books were cluttered in drawers and some of them were handwritten.

All of the tags from his clothes had been torn off along with the labels of his pill bottles.

He had a lot of written letters that he’d never sent out, most of them were addressed to Brian.

He liked things that smelt like lavender.

He only smoked menthol cigarettes, empty packs still lying around.

His mom sent him a check bi-weekly to pay the house bills because she technically still was the owner of the house. He didn’t appear to have any other contact with his family. 

He had a cabinet that had alcohol and other booze in it. All of it was untouched. Most of it seemed like gifts from friends and family that he would never consider buying on his own accord. 

There were needles in one of the bathroom cabinets. They were the type used for medical injections, but for what? Some disease he’d never talked about? A secret drug addiction? Who knows. Maybe it was the reason why Tim would stop by at the house late at night occasionally. 

Tim had a tremendous interest in music, having a substantial collection of CDs and other tapes. The genre he gravitated towards the most was 70s music, more specifically progressive rock. Bands like Pink Floyd, Genesis, Yes, King Crimson, Rush, Emerson Lake And Palmer, and Camel were some of Tim’s favorites. Alex would read the labels on the CD cases to pass the time. 

He had cat food, but there was no evidence to suggest that he had a pet. Alex figured he fed the neighborhood strays that he would see roaming the streets on occasion. There was a gray and white one that’d occasionally stop by and meow at the door. 

Knowing these things felt odd, considering that Alex’s main goal was to kill Tim, but it’s not like he had anything else to do while he was stuck waiting here. It did say a lot about Tim’s character, not that Alex needed to know anyways

He was getting braver by the day, even if it was something as mundane as taking a shower or eating food. He was getting more paranoid by the day, dreading the day someone would find out he was hiding out there. 

He still went out, walking to his car down the street in the dark to get supplies to live somewhat comfortably. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was livable. But…

It was unbearably lonely. 

Yes, for the past couple years Alex has been isolating himself more and more when that thing infected everyone he knew, but he still had one person stopping by to talk to. First, it was Amy, but she’s...well, nevermind. Then it was Jay for a little bit, but now. 

He was alone. 

All he had, was that eldritch abomination and a crinkled up photo of his ex-girlfriend who ~~he murdered in cold blood~~ disappeared. 

~~~~

~~~~~~~~ ~~


	2. Nobody Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It hit him like a wave. All of the nerves in his body locked up and began to shake. It felt like something was permeating throughout his body, sharp tendrils covered in thorns curling around his lungs and squeezing. His body fell forward, slamming on the hardwood floor as he began to cough. The tendrils tightened, thorns punctured his lungs as he began to choke up droplets of blood._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so big warning up front, there is a lot of heavy shit that happens in this chapter. Please keep in mind that a lot of this is me venting and I am not trying to condone or romanticize Alex’s actions in this fic. 
> 
> TWs for:
> 
> -Self Harm  
> -Suicidal Ideation  
> -Alcohol Abuse  
> -Suicide Attempt 
> 
> Please do not read this if you’re easily triggered by these things. Stay safe and take care of yourself.

Alex sighed as he rolled over on the stiff mattress. He was utterly exhausted. His eyes were heavy and his limbs sluggish. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d gotten more than three hours of sleep. His chest tightened and all of his muscles ached, god, he needed to sleep. 

It was cold and humid during the night, the perfect combination for Alex to get sick, what luck. He would twitch frequently from the chills or the fact he was restless. He felt like he was being suffocated by the night air. 

A migraine was pounding from behind his eyes and his vision was streaked with colors of unknown origin. They looked like fireworks. 

Brian liked fireworks, at least, that’s what he remembered Brian saying. He could remember seeing Brian’s face as he said something snarky in some memory he couldn’t quite remember-

**YOU DO NOT KNOW BRIAN. THERE IS NO ONE NAMED BRIAN THOMAS. YOU KILLED HIM. THE HOODED MAN IS NOT BRIAN THOMAS.**

White noise was streaming through his eardrums as he felt it again. The pins and needles were back. Buzzing from his fingertips to the hairs on the back of his neck. 

_The Operator._

Alex stumbles to his feet as he ambled towards the small window. He was greeted by darkness as he gazed outward to the woods. 

His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he began to make out...nothing. It wasn’t there. The spot it stood was empty. He frowned and sat back down on the mattress. It was weird, he usually only got that feeling when it was here. He sighed, his voice dry and scratchy. He rubbed his eyes as he tried to prepare himself to go back asleep. 

The feeling was still there. 

He opened one of his eyes, scanning across the room warily. 

Something was wrong. 

His heart was starting to pound in his chest. He barely had the time to lift his head when his fight or flight instinct took over. He needed to get out of there, ASAP. Alex barely had the chance to get up and step forward before it happened.

It hit him like a wave. All of the nerves in his body locked up and began to shake. It felt like something was permeating throughout his body, sharp tendrils covered in thorns curling around his lungs and squeezing. His body fell forward, slamming on the hardwood floor as he began to cough. The tendrils tightened, thorns punctured his lungs as he began to choke up droplets of blood. 

His face was pressed up against the rotting wood floor, the scent of oak and mildew was overwhelming. The static and buzzing was back at full force.

It was in the room with him. It had no face, but it looked like it was staring right through him. Alex barely had the strength to pull himself up to look at the creature in the face. 

“What do you want from me?” He gasped, blood pooling at the back of his throat. His voice was tenuous and raspy. It tilted its head as if it were confused by his words. 

“You’ve taken enough from me, just fuck off already.” He let out, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. 

In a blink of an eye, it was gone, just like that. He laid his head back on the floor, his head pounding. The presence of it still lingered in the air as his thoughts began to wander. 

He could feel himself stumbling to his feet, staggering towards the attic entrance. 

This wasn’t his fault. No, it’s Tim’s fault, not his. Right? 

... 

He didn’t feel in control of his body. 

“Shut up.” He stammered, he didn’t want to admit that the voice in his head screaming,” THIS IS YOUR FAULT,” had a point. 

This was his fault. 

...

None of them deserved this. 

Virtually no one fought back when he attempted to kill them.

Perhaps they were shocked that their dear friend Alex Kralie was the one to kill them.

Seth froze up like a deer in headlights.

Sarah screamed and tried to run.

Tim didn’t have time to react when Alex bashed him over the head with a pipe.

Brian only asked him, “Why?”

Jay begged me to stop while I strangled him until his face was a sickly blue color and there was blood behind his eyes.

Amy was the only one who fought back.

She kicked and screamed while she tried to wrestle the gun away from him. He managed to shoot her in the abdomen in the struggle, but she didn’t die. She passed out from the blood loss and he had to strangle her until she stopped breathing. 

Their families would never know what happened to them. 

The only person that would know what happened to them is the person that killed them. Alex Kralie. 

He’d lost so many memories but the memories of him murdering them would never disappear. He would live with the guilt until he died. 

The sardonic reminders of sins were never going to leave. Alex couldn’t do this anymore.

He’d been wandering around the house for a while now. Aimlessly pacing back and forth while his body was in autopilot. His mouth still tasted like copper and it wouldn’t go away. Too many emotions were lashing out at each other, truculent and waiting for Alex to snap. 

It was too much, he didn’t want to feel anything anymore. He wanted to feel numb. 

Abnegation.

He felt apprehensive, almost excited, as he tore open the liquor cabinet. He grabbed a random bottle, not even bothering to read the label as he popped the loose cork out with his teeth. He didn’t know what it was but it burned down his throat. The booze loosened his limbs and his brain but it wasn’t enough. 

He grabbed another bottle, not thinking as he chucked it across the room, it shattered against the wall. It didn’t matter that it was loud. Hell, he hoped the neighbors would hear it and call a noise complaint on him. 

It didn’t matter because nothing mattered anymore. 

He tried to open more bottles but he didn’t have a corkscrew and he felt sick anyways. He ambled over to Tim’s stereo, grabbing it and a couple of miscellaneous CDs. He placed it on the ground and he sat down next to it, popping open one of the cd cases and shoving the disc in the stereo. He turned the volume up to max. He couldn’t bear to hear himself cry. It was loud, it barely sounded like music to him, it was just deafening noise. 

He put his hands over his ears and screamed. He screamed until his voice eventually gave out. His voice felt like a sore thumb against the wall, as if he had punched through an hourglass. Until his voice turned into broken sobs and then there was silence. He was terrified that if anyone heard a noise, they would think that someone had broken in, but he didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care one bit. 

The music was blaring. His head was pounding and he could barely breathe. 

_Your self-destruction spree was getting out of hand, wouldn't you regret this in the morning?_

No.

What if there was no waking up in the morning at all. No more waking up. 

He was in the bathroom and shutting the door before he could process what he was doing. 

He stared at himself in the mirror. He loathed his reflection. He was unshaven and pale. His eyes were unfocused and red from crying. There was dry blood staining the side of his cheek. 

In a blind rage, he punched the mirror. It shattered, shards of glass slicing through his knuckles. He swallowed the pain, manifesting itself into a bizarre rush of mania. He was blacking out by the time he was rummaging through the drawers for a razor blade. 

He didn’t feel in control of his body.

He didn’t remember doing it. 

  
~

The next thing he knew he was lying on the bathroom floor, his head resting against the edgy of the bathtub. He was shaking and his blood was beginning to drip on the tile floor. Cuts lined both of his arms, all of them ugly and jagged misshapen lines. Most of them had stopped bleeding and were beginning to scab over. 

Music was coming from the stereo in the other room. It almost sounded quieter now. He knew the song but he couldn’t remember the name of it. 

He was getting tired and he wanted to go to sleep. His eyes were drooping and his entire body felt like it was made of lead. It almost felt peaceful.

The pain all over his body didn’t matter. It was all fading away from the more he drifted. Alex closed his eyes, falling into a dreamless sleep. 

It was 5 AM when Tim got a frantic call from one of his neighbors about a noise complaint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it kinda left off on a cliffhanger. Hopefully I will get the motivation to write the next chapter so I can keep the story going. Please leave feedback if you have any!!!
> 
> Shaun be like -names all of his chapter titles after music he likes, specifically Pink Floyd for some reason-

**Author's Note:**

> Writing has been very difficult lately, so this is pretty short but I do wanna write some more stuff so :)!! Feedback is appreciated!!


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